


Like a married couple

by GwenChan



Series: FrUKweek2016 [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having been everything, from enemies to lovers, it's strange to just lie in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a married couple

**Like a married couple**

 

“Your feet are cold, _frog,”_ was the first thing England told France when he slid into bed, peering a little from the book he was reading.

“Not as much as your heart, chenille,” France teased him.

England gave him a little kick under the blankets. After that he gave up the book, not before having bookmarked it, and turned on his side to face for a while the other nation. Arthur blushed when he saw him smiling and went back to stare at the ceiling.

“You have a pimple on your forehead,” he said calmly.

Francis laughed, crossing arms behind his nape.

“Nice try, Angleterre, but this skin hasn’t seen a pimple since 1700.”

“Because even pimples have too much dignity to stay on you ugly face,” England remarked, grinning.

Francis chuckled, stretching out a hand to caress England’s belly in the way he knew it would’ve made him jerking for the tickling. He obtained another little kick, and chuckled again.

Tickling. Kick. Chuckle. Tickling. Kick. Chuckle.

“Do you want to go on like this forever?” Arthur asked, with a slightly harder kick on France’s calf.

“Actually I must admit I’m too tired.”

Francis stopped the tickling, letting his hand pat the mattress. He was not lying, he’d truly had a very hard day and the last thing he wanted was to fight with his _Angleterre._ The clocks hands were pointing respectively to 11 and 25 and sleepiness was already slipping under his eyelids.

And he was the kind of person that need at least eight full hours of sleep to properly function.

France intertwined his fingers with England’s, brushing hips side-to-side, legs tangled together. They didn’t talk much, except for little jabs they were used to by now and for which they didn’t take offense anymore.

They would’ve probably ended spooning sometime during the night, but for now they just lied on their back next to each other because those moments with neither fights nor sex were so rare both wanted to fully experience them.

“I’m switching off the light,” England warned, posing the book on the floor and bending out the bed to reach the abat-jour. He didn’t let go of France’s hand, partly because it was a way to prevent the _frog_ from touching places he shouldn’t have touched, partly because he sincerely loved the sensation of Francis’ hand against his. It was strange after all they’ve been through, after all the wars, all the fights, all the political up and down, to be so quiet together.

“Ça va. How do you say? Good night and sleep tight, right?”  
“And don’t let the bedbugs bite. You?”  
“You should’ve learnt by now,” France sighted, moving that much to have his lips against England’s ear “Bonne nuit et dors bien.”


End file.
